Leaves
by sleepwalker12
Summary: Takin' place during Season 2, though it'll take a bit to get there. includes Sam/Kurt  no sunshine Rachel/Finn Mike/Tina and everyone else that comes along every tuesday :D rubbish at summary. just read.  you should know its o.c. too
1. Chapter 1

**So, I'm practically done my other fic, and I've been spending every minute trying to work out a new story line. And I came up with a kind of rough idea; unfortunately, it is a O/C story. Unfortunately for you, that is, because I know they aren't favorable. But stuff it. I love them like I love sniffing glue, but I know not all people roll that way. Oh, and I occasionally like to burst out in random swears, so be warned. **

**Please Review! **

**Understanding my way of Song: Girls are always **_**italics**_**; guys are always bold, girls and guys are **_**both,**_** this isn't too hard to understand. **

**Declaimer: As much as that would be great, I don't own Glee, or any music used in this particular fanfic. **

**Near the end of June**

My favorite song came on the radio. That, along with the bright sunny atmosphere in the flat, the smell of sautéed vegetable and my comfortable sweats, nothing could stop me.

_I haven't been to church, since I don't remember when.  
Things were going great, til they fell apart again  
So I listened to the preacher, as he told me what to do  
He said "You can't go hatin' others who have done wrong to you,  
Sometimes we get angry but we must not condemn.  
Let the good Lord do his job, you just pray for them._

From behind me I heard the heavy thump, thump, thump of heavy boots against the stairs; I smiled when the men entered the room, not taking my eyes off the frying vegetables. A dark hand snuck up and grabbed a hot chunk of cucumber, hissing when the temperature sizzled against the dirty fingers.

**I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill.  
I pray a flower pot falls from a window sill,  
And knocks you in the head like I'd like to.**  
**I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls.  
I pray you're flyin' high when your engine stalls.  
I pray all your dreams never come true.  
Just know wherever you are, honey,  
I pray for you.**

I hummed along, letting the deep voice of the men take over, filling the air. It must have gone pretty good; the bell had only rang a little over two hours ago. For traveling across all of Columbia, this team had to be the best; and they were all mine.

_I'm really glad I found my way to church.  
Cause I'm already feelin' better, and I thank God for the words.  
Yeah, I'm gonna take the high road and do what the Preacher told me to do.  
You keep messin' up, and I'll keep prayin' for you.  
__**  
I pray your tire goes out at 110.  
I pray you pass out drunk with your best friend,  
And wake up with his and her tattoos.**_

I dished the vegetables onto the rice in that had been waiting for the sauce. Grabbing a large wooden spoon, I shoved it into the dinner and picked up the wide glass, sliding down the length of the wooden floors and plopping it in front of the ashy men. The spoon was quickly scooped from the glass to the plate.

_**I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill.  
I pray a flower pot falls from a window sill,  
And knocks you in the head like I'd like to.  
I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls.  
I pray you're flyin' high when your engine stalls.  
I pray all your dreams never come true.  
Just know wherever you are, near or far,  
In your house or in your car,  
Wherever you are, honey, I pray for you**_.

The men fell silent, always loving me to finish up the song. I wasn't particularly good, not compared to my favorite cousin, but it was 'rich and innocent', so I obliged every time with a smile.

_I pray for you._

"Amen!" the men yelled, throwing their glasses to the air and sloshing the water to the table. Yes, it must have gone fairly well. I sat down beside the Chief, smiling and accepting a clean glass of water.

The dish was quickly finished off, and I leaned back in my chair, balancing against back legs. Dad stood shortly after, joined slowly by Lenny. They dragged me to my feet and out the door, holding tightly to my elbows.

Laughing I looked over my shoulder, waving to the grinning grey men, still in their 'work' clothes. Seven echo's of goodbye as the door shut, but not one thank-you. Well, that's what you get, working with the men of service.

We only lived a few blocks from the station, and Lenny lived between us. The car barely rolled to a stop before the tall man was out the door, grinning and waving as he retreated into the apartment.

"So, how was it?" I asked, walking out of the beat up car and joining my father at the front. He was tall, and on the butcher side, with balding brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Thankfully all I inherited was the eyes.

"Just the usual, nothing to bad. We went for hot dog after; nice lady even gave me a wink." I laughed as he nudged my shoulder, letting me know he would never dream of hooking up with a hotdog seller. Like I didn't know that. "You coming back in with us tomorrow?"

"Of course! What else would I do on a Saturday on my summer vacation?" He pulled me into a tight hug, kissing my light brown hair line and pushing me towards my bedroom door. "G'night dad, love you!"

"Love you more!" I giggled and shut my door, quietly locking it behind me; it was a practice I had been doing for years. That little bit of safety that left during the night. I pulled a black tee out of my dresser, slipping it on and my lamp off before walking over to the window.

I loved this sight. I loved the city. All the lights that flickered and winked at me from four floors down, the culture and mixed people, I loved it all.

Smiling quiet contently, I snuggled into bed, curling around my extra pillow and nuzzling the soft blankets to my chin.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

I was always a light sleeper, and they always said the loss of sleep would be the death of me. Ha on them, I thought, snapping my eyes open. If I was a heavy sleeper, like, say, my father, I wouldn't have smelt the smoke oozing through the air.

I jumped out of bed, forgetting the emergency backpack on the floor. This had been drilled into me since I was young enough to understand the threat. The smell was feint, but caution still had me placing a hand to the door. No heat, but the smell was getting stronger. I twisted the knob and crossed the hall, sliding into the open door.

"Daddy. Daddy," I shook his shoulder gently, smiling into his face, even though this wasn't something to smile at. His eyes flashed open, and he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the hall and down the first flight of stairs.

We pushed through the second emergency exit, flanked by a few others from the surrounding apartments. We reached the second floor when Margret – our neighbor – attempted to push by us, back up the stairs.

"Marge, you can't go back up there," Dad said, grabbing her by the arm. The air was thick with smoke and I could hear the crackle of burning wood.

"Y-you don't- Katy-katys up there- I have too- have too…" she covered her face with a shaking hand. Friday nights was Bingo, which explained a lot. We hadn't met very many people, because everyone but the children went to Friday night Bingo.

My dad turned to me, crooked smile and apologetic eyes. "Sweetie, I need to get Katy, take Marge?"

I clenched my teeth, but took the woman's hand, pulling her past the railing and whispering a "be carefully" to my father.

Completely unnecessary, I know, it's been his job for years. He's been saving people since before I was born. He was the senior that taught the newbies. He was the one they went to to ask all the questions. He would be fine. I had to believe it.

Margret started pulling against my resisting arm, trying to get to her three year old daughter. "Marge. Do you trust dad?" she nodded, "good. Then let him do his job." She stopped resisting and let me pull her through the third door.

The smoke had begun to sting my eyes, and I stooped low, trying to keep it from affecting my throat. The crackling of the fire made my heart race, but I could see the door. It was just down the hall, we would defiantly make it.

Through the crackle of the flames, I heard a heart stopping sound. No, not the creak of wood weakening, not the alarms of the trucks I had become accustom to. No, it was the sound of crying.

I didn't really have to think about it; I was around people saving people my entire life. The smell of smoke was so familiar in their uniforms that it wasn't what scared me. It was the doom that would meet the wailing voice. I stopped at the door, number seven. Four doors from fresh air, four doors from life.

I let go of Marge's hand, pushing her roughly to the door. Motioning for her to go. I was scared, as I stood at the door, the heat and smoke finally getting to me, to the voice. I waited, and waited. But dad wasn't coming. How long did it take to get one little three year old? Too long, as coughing echoed through the smoke.

My heart pounded in my ears, and my foot struck the frail wooden door. It was too late to turn back now. I sucked in a breath and plunged into the dark room, locating the cradle quickly. It was in a far room, and the handle was still cold. That was a good sign, I was sure.

I picked up the little boy, probably about five, don't ask what he was doing in a crib, and gently put his chubby legs to the ground. Taking his hand, I pulled him to the attached bathroom, handing him a soaked hand towel and grabbing one for myself. The room was filling with smoke faster than I liked.

Sinking to my knees, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hold this over your mouth, okay? Keep low to the ground, but don't let go of me." My voice sounded strained, but I was taken aback at the calmness of it. He nodded through his tears, and I was surprised of the bravery of the munchkin.

I placed the cold cloth over my mouth, heading back out the door. The state of the bedroom scared me. The smoke had billowed in, filling it with dark dread. I tightened my hold on the small hand, crawling on my knees and attempting to get under the smoke.

When we finally reached the hall, I ushered the boy ahead of me, trying to see through the smoke. My eyes started to sing, but they wouldn't dampen. Keeping to the side of the hall, I used it to lead us to the doors.

A low moan, loud _pop_ of fire, and slow panic as the door beside us erupted in flame. I pushed to boy ahead of me, throwing my cloth away when I realized the heat had long dissolve the liquid.

My heart leapt into my throat as we neared the last door, the sounds had long faded. I flew myself forward, above the boy and angled my arm above me. Bad idea. Bad, _bad_ idea.

A horse scream of pain left my mouth as the burning metal of the door hissed against my bare skin. The boy stood and raced to the opening, leaving me to crawl out from the door. I stumbled forward, cradling my arm to my chest.

I couldn't really feel it. That is, until I was pulled into an angry hug. Another scream left my numb lips and Lenny pulled away, handing me warm bottle, lips moving with words, but I ignored him, stinging eyes flickering around parking lot.

Ladder 23, I should have known, why else would Lenny and Steve and Chief be around the front door, waiting? I saw the little boy, and, presumably, his parents; a rough head count was at fifty. Not that that really helped me. My icey blue eyes sorted through the people, not pausing when they didn't have the qualities I was looking for. But that's when I saw Marge standing on the street. Alone.

I turned towards the apartment, falling to my knees when the building burst into one flame. Hot air blew back my hair as the flames hit the gas pipe. The building gave one final struggle and crumpled. Rubble of fire exploded to the ground, one landing not two feet from me.

I couldn't hear the screams. One moment in particular stuck out at me as strong arms wrapped around my torso, keeping me back. I fought them, to no luck. There was just no way I could fight off a firefighter. The noise finally flooded back to me.

Past the roar of fire, the wail of sirens, the crying people, missing what few possessions the apartments held, but one voice rang clear to my ears. One of absolute pain; that, and knowing.

"_Daddy!"_

**Songs: I'll pray for you; Jaron and the long road to love. (I do not own you)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heres Chappie number 2! **

**Again, please review!**

**The song this song is Temporary Home by Carrie Underwood**

**Disclaimer: And I still don't own Glee, but I do own a drawing that I am particularly fond of. But that's nothing compared to Ryan Murphy's achievements. **** June**

The phone slipped from his hands and he watched it slowly fall to the ground, shattering away from the battery. In movies they had scenes where everything would stop, and the character would react in what seemed to be split seconds. Falling seconds after the call, crying. Understanding.

But it was a solid minute before Kurt Hummel mustered up the courage to bend and retrieve the pieces. Hot, bitter tears stained down his cheeks and he took a moment to try and recompose himself. He had learnt at a young age that you should only cry when the water rained against your exposed body, and when the sounds could block out the noise.

He had broken that rule a lot since high school started, and he hated himself for it. He hated weakness, even more than he hated the slushies and the dumpster dives and the cruel name calling.

Carol must have sensed that he was in no way alright, because her soft hands pulled him from the floor and onto her shoulder. "Shh, honey. Everything's going to be alright."

He wished that were true. He wanted that to be true. He _needed_ that to be true. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. He missed the days when it was alright. Hearing the television switch off, he buried his face into his step-almost-mothers neck, clenching his jaw and hiding from the questions he knew were going to flood to him.

"Kurt? What is it?" His father's confused voice had him flinching and shaking. "Come on, buddy, you have to talk to us."

_Yes, Kurt, talk to them. He's your father. They're your family. They don't need to hear this from a stranger._ So how was it that he got to answer the phone?

He swallowed, pulling away from Carol and looking over her shoulder. He moved his mouth in speech, but noting but a quiet moan escaped. He tried again, and could only find himself saying it because of Carol's understanding hug.

"I-that-it's…Columbia General Hospital. It's Gabby." _And Lucas._

He couldn't bring himself to say it, but his father must have read it through the pained look they shared, and Burt Hummel sank to his knees, letting the tears soak his weathered face for the first time is Lillian died. First his wife, now his brother.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

She wouldn't let anyone in the room, but the nurses had pulled back the blinds, allowing the family to look in. Her usually shiny, pristine hair was dull and drab. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

_Windows and rooms that I'm passin' through._

Kurt wanted nothing more to pull his cousin into his arms and hold her. But she would have none of that. From his spot at the window, he could see where the metal burned and melted against her arm. Black burns where the fire had licked at her smooth white skin.

It was on the fourth day when she got a visitor, the first person she would allow in. A tall, dark skinned, lean man. He was wearing thick boots and heavy coveralls; he only stayed long enough to engulf her in a hug, say a few words and introduce himself the Hudson-Hummel's.

Lenny from Ladder 23. Lenny that was Lucas's best friend. Lenny that would let them know when the service was going to be.

Kurt glared at the retreating back; didn't he see what a fragile state his father was in? Before the nurse locked them out again, he slipped into the room, stopping beside the bed and brushing hair back from the round face.

"How are you doing?" Kurt cursed as the question left his lips. She had been in a fire; she had lost her father, how do you think she was?

But the grey eyes met his, and a painful smile hurt his heart more than he thought was possible. "Well, I know how toast feels now."

"Do you need anything?" Kurt didn't find her half-ass joke that funny at the moment.

She sighed and let her eye lids flicker shut. "I don't want to stay here. I need chocolate," Kurt could do that. That was something he could do.

"I'll be right back."

As the door started the slow decent shut, he heard her final whisper, "I need my daddy."

_This is my temporary Home_

**Beginning of July**

They wouldn't let her leave for ten days. The smoke had damaged her lungs severely; she would have to keep an inhaler on her at all times, and her burns only got worse, turning an ugly green that clashed with the red and weak skin puckered over where the flames licked at her face.

_This is my temporary Home_

But the day she was allowed to go, she stood under the threat of rain, watching as the men of Ladder 23 hoisted the simple redwood coffin onto their shoulders.

"Today we put to rest Mr. Lucas Henry Hummel."

The words were so impressionable from the old priest that Kurt blocked out the rest of the speech, watching the crowd. There were a lot of people. A sobbing woman who knelt on the ground, families and friends that knew the hero, people who just wanted to see the man once before he was gone from their sights forever.

_It's not where I belong._

The most memorable person to Kurt was a dusty haired boy who clamped onto his cousins hand at the beginning and had yet to let go. His eyes were hard, and the light hair was crisped at the end. He scared Kurt. All the hardness and hurt in his posture. He didn't look any more than five.

_Windows and rooms that I'm passin' through._

A bulking man, tall, muscular and sharp, replaced the priest, and Kurt slid his hand into his fathers. Allowing the shaking man to draw strength from his son.

"Lucas and I worked together for years. We fought fires and saved lives. He was brave and stronger than you could ever think possible. In the twenty years he worked for me, we never found a job too big for him. There was a fire in his eyes, and it only grew stronger as we put more and more of them out."

"The first day on the job; the first time he heard that bell ring. He wasn't scared like most people, no. In fact, September 27, the first fire he went to, he forgot his boots," cue chuckles from the older men of the group.

He looked away sharply. He could stand listening to this anymore. Oh, he knew about the crazy things his uncle did. Kurt just couldn't imagine the jolly man dead. His father retracted his hand, using it to press the heel into his eyes.

_This was just a stop, on the way to where I'm going._

Kurt watched as Carol placed a black arm around his shaking shoulders and he looked back at the ground. "That's how he wanted to go, at home in his flames." The men all stepped forward, each taking a single shove and slowly filling the hole up.

The small boy just could _fathom_ how someone would want to die in flames; even one as devoted to fighting them as Lucas was. He heard the autopsy, and his uncle hadn't died quickly. The floor collapsed and he was buried in rubbish, found days later when they began shuffling through the burning walls and scrap wood. He had suffocated. Nothing quick or painless.

But Kurt noticed the change in atmosphere; his family seemed to hang on the words like a comforting hug. He decided to just go with it. Sure it was a big fat lie. But it did make him feel a bit better; knowing his uncle had been in his element.

_I'm not afraid because I know... this was_

Shaking from his thoughts, Kurt realized that everyone had started to disperse. The only people left was the Chief, Lenny, and the Hudson-Hummel's. Burt wrapped a strong arm around Kurt's shoulder, leading them away from the grave and to his Navigator.

_My temporary home_

They stopped with the two fire-fighters and turned to watch the frail girl slowly lean down near the stone and run her shaking fingers over the name. Kurt drew a shaking breath and leaned into his father's chest, swallowing his strength.

When the girl joined them, her eyes were red, but dry and down cast. Carol stepped forward and wrapped her in a motherly hug, only releasing her when the protector started to cry.

Burt retracted from his son's hold, stepping forward and placing a feather light kiss on her forehead. "Did you want to come home with us, Gabriella?"

Kurt could feel the shock through every bone in his body. They had agreed to giving her some time to process her fathers death before asking her to move away from him, away from her city. Pity sunk deep in his heart when she looked from her family to the people that had cared for her.

"I-no thank-you. I c-can't leave…" Kurt understood, so he stepped forward and wrapped the fragile body with his own. They stayed like that, wrapped in each others embrace until the clouds above them rumbled impatiently. When he felt hot water met the soft skin between his neck and his cheek, he only hugged her tighter.

"We'll take good care of her, don't you worry," it was a dismissal if it slapped Kurt in the face.

He climbed into the back of the giant car, reaching out to hold Carol's hand through the seat, but his father stopped halfway in. "You always have a home with us, Gabriella."

"Thanks, Uncle Burt," she nodded in appreciation, running a hand over her eyes and leaning into her companions shoulder hug.

Kurt turned to watch her fade behind them; something in her voice scared him. It was raw of any emotion, and almost defensive. He turned back to the front and leaned forward enough to rest his hand on his fathers shoulder. He still shook with sobs.

Maybe it was okay to cry in public.


End file.
